


aftermath

by fadinglove



Series: aftermath [1]
Category: DCU
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Bruce, Crime Fighting, Hurt Bruce Wayne, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Instability, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape Aftermath, Rape/Non-con Elements, Shame, Slow Build, Superheroes, Top Clark, justice league - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-04-01
Packaged: 2018-09-25 19:54:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 18
Words: 11,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9841472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fadinglove/pseuds/fadinglove
Summary: A pause. "Alright then," Superman says, and moves on.Bruce cannot move on.





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> this fic needs some explanation. in a recent short fic thing I wrote, called "Selfishness", I wrote about a situation where a creature disguised as clark raped bruce. I've decided to write a sequel of sorts, except note a huge change: the SHIP is different. I changed it from constantine/bruce to clark/bruce.  
> I apologize for this random ass decision, but I feel that I know clark's character much better than constantine's (I can barely write his accent), and the idea obviously centers around clark and bruce.  
> so, in conclusion, I am writing a fanfiction with the same plot as "Selfishness" except Bruce and John were never a thing.  
> NOTE: you do NOT have to read "Selfishness" to understand this.  
> NOTE: I already tagged a warning, but there are mentions of RAPE in this. this is a RAPE AFTERMATH story.
> 
> thank you for reading this super long note.

_Batman lays sprawled on the ground, cape in tatters, cowl ripped off to reveal his beaten face. A cut runs alongside one high cheekbone._

_He can't see through his own shame, even when no one is there to watch or judge or pity. He can't breathe through the deep bitterness running through every vein._

_That wasn't Kal-El, the Superman. That monster, who so savagely slammed him into weakness and hit him until he was dizzy, grabbing his armor like it was soft flesh to feel bones bend under his touch._

_That monster, who so remorselessly entered Bruce and did so for pleasure and nothing more. That wasn't the Kal-El he knows._

_Batman is smarter than a man of injury lying on the ground, doing nothing. He can think of a hundred and one ways to contact the League, or his family, or even a random civilian, before something worse happens to anyone._

_But in a rare, rare moment, he allows himself a moment of pure selfishness to lay there in all his pity, blood dripping freely, insides aching from the rough, bruising touch of not-Clark._

* * *

"Batman reports that a creature disguised as me, or rather transformed, should I say, attacked him in the Watchtower last night." Superman pulls up security camera feed from a familiar place. "Though he must have been stronger than me if he defeated Batman." Clark smiles easily. Some of the League chuckles.

"Don't play the recording," Bruce says, and there's something strange in his voice.

"What, you embarrassed?" And then Clark looks at Bruce- _really_ looks at him, for the first time that night. The League falls silent then, shifting in confusion.

"Don't play it. Delete it. All the League has to know is that your doppelgänger beat me, and then left."

A pause. "Alright then," Superman says, and moves on. 

Bruce cannot move on.


	2. a fatal distraction

_"Left, Batman."_ Cyborg's voice blasts through the comms, and the straight, cut line of a grappling hook shoots into the air, clawing into the roof of a brick building. Following it is a shadowed figure, cape fluttering behind him, looking like a streak of black against the setting sun.

He reaches the building as the rope shortens to nothing, and then rolls to the right just as the machine arm of Luthor crashes into the spot where his head just was.

"You weren't exactly the man I was looking for, but I'm not picky," Lex's robotic voice, laced with a sneer, echoes through the bubble of his automaton head.

"Don't worry," Batman growls, planting both his feet into one of the legs as ground to push off of, "Superman's on his way."

Just saying the name makes something in his stomach coil even tighter, but he ignores it and grapples to higher ground. He's a number of stories high, now. Looking down, Vic is a silver ant rooting through the control panels and various mechanical enemies.

He looks back up. To a vividly colorful fist.

As Batman disinterestedly falls about twenty-two stories over a city park, his cape envelops half of his body like a curtain of privacy. The wind whistles in his ears and air pushes back against him. When he reaches the ground, he could probably help Cyborg with the tech while the League takes care of Luthor-

"Got you," and Bruce looks up into the face of Superman. Kal-El shifts their positions so they're upright, his arm around Batman's waist. Around them, the League is either flying up or swarming on the grounds below.

And Batman can't breathe.

He sees flashbacks, visions, the same face whispering into his ear, and with a violent twist of his body, pushes so hard out of Clark's grip it unbalances the Man of Steel. Superman easily could've stopped him, but it's clear he wasn't expecting it at all.

They're still several stories aboveground. Batman falls the rest of the way, and Superman's expression changes from confusion to hurt, but before he can say something, Luthor bounds on him.

Bruce feels unfocused, as if viewing the world through someone else's hazy vision, and he doesn't have his grapple hook anymore. He forgets everything he's learned about falling great distances, and when he meets the ground after about ten feet of air, it's as an inelegant, painful thump on his side.

Cyborg goes, "What the hell-"

At that time, Superman and Luthor crash into the cobblestones nearby too, sending up a cloud of dust and whatever else. Through the haze, Kal-El finds Bruce picking his head up off the ground. "Batman, are you hurt? Jesus, what was that? Are you-"

Pain is shooting up every nerve of Batman's body, into every bruise and cut. His injuries are deep. Recent. Aching. Kryptonian fingers can bend bones to their will. And now, the angle of the fall he just stupidly took probably broke a rib.

Superman bends down and the other man nearly scrambles back. "Bruce, what is going _on?"_

"I need to leave," he replies, and grapples onto the nearest skyscraper. Superman doesn't stop him.

* * *

_The nightmares are frequent and long. Sometimes Bruce relives the entire moment, and sometimes a cruel trick of the mind introduces a sense of security. He endures both the razing harshness of the shape-shifting creature and familiar safety of Kal-El until he's not sure which is which anymore._

_Always, in the dreams, he feels painful pressure low on his hips, and then agony inside him._

_He hears the click of his suit being deftly undone, the different armored plates clattering as they fall to the ground._

_He's powerless to stop it._

_Power._

_Less._

_"Your body is mine to use," and the voice is nothing at all like Clark's, but then his face morphs into the one he's more familiar with, but it changes back, and he can't make sense of what's right and what's wrong._

_"No," but it comes out as a whisper._


	3. knowing secrets

Bruce can't focus. His entire body hurts. Yet he's in the suit, trying to keep his tread light, going at it like he always has.

Bane notices, of course. "Off your game today, eh?" his rasping voice is one big grin. A slap in the face. Before Bruce can do so much as shuffle his feet, a hard jab to his sensitive side sends him flying. "This might be my lucky day."

He groans, cape sprawled out to one side. How is he being defeated by a lowly villain like Bane?

"Lowly? I thought we were on better terms than that, Bat," and Batman only then realizes he's said it out loud. What is happening to him?

"Actually, I don't think you're on terms with him at all." That voice. He knows that voice.

It's Superman to the rescue, as always. He dives down to collide with Bane in a flash of red and blue, but Bruce is barely paying attention.

The grass seems very green. He just sits there, unfocused, feeling as if something were pressing onto his head with the intent to crush it.

Has it been a minute or five or ten? Clark flies down. "Bruce, you're hurt. I'll-"

" _Don't_ scan me," he snarls with near panic rising in his voice, and the other man is surprised but obeys anyway. "Leave. I'm fine."

"Bruce?" Superman's brow furrows and he reaches out a hand-

_He reaches out a hand, a hand of immense power and destruction, and presses bruises into-_

"Stop! Stop," He shifts back. "No."

"What the hell? Did Bane drug you or something? Like that Scarecrow stuff? Bruce, talk to me. I'm not an enemy," Superman's cape glows brightly against the night sky. A sudden near-silent whoosh indicates the arrival of the Batmobile.

Breathing hard, Batman musters every bit of his strength and latches onto the ladder that swings down from the vehicle. "Probably drugged." Deep breath. "Alfred will fix me up. Just go."

"Bruce, wait-"

Again, he leaves. Again, Superman doesn't stop him.

* * *

In the nightmare tonight, all he can see is red. First, it's the fire engine red of Superman's cape, as his face is pressed into it, colliding over and over and over again.

Then, it's the crimson of his own blood. On himself. On him. On the floor. Everywhere.

* * *

"Master Bruce, you must rest." Alfred states matter-of-factly as he stirs some ginger tea. "You won't get any work done in this state."

"What I need"- he doesn't stop the furious clacking of computer keys -" _is_ to work." 

"I believe it has been about 23 hours since you last slept, Master Bruce."

No reply.

"Are you having nightmares?"

There's the tiniest, barest hesitation in the next moment, as his fingers hover one millionth of a second too long over the keyboard before plunging down, maybe with more force than necessary. Otherwise, everything else is the same.

Yet Alfred Pennyworth knows Bruce Wayne better than anyone else.

There's silence in the next few moments.

"Thank you for the tea." Bruce's words are curt and sharp, an invitation to leave. The butler stirs an elegantly engraved spoon once more, and then stands to do so.

"It will help." Soft, almost soundless footsteps leading away from the cave.

Bruce puts his head in his hands.


	4. unveil

Clark knows, without a doubt, that something is wrong. Something is wrong with his best friend. He has never seen him act anything remotely like this, flinching away at his touch, trembling at his glance. Not even Joker drugs or Scarecrow gas or anything, really, has ever resorted Bruce to this... this _fear._

And Clark isn't stupid. He knows, with only a little doubt, that it must've originated from the fight with his copycat. Everything points to it.

At the League meeting, he was unnerved by the absolute certainty of Batman's refusal to show the security feed. He had chalked it up to humiliation, and a great deal of it at that, but there was something in his voice- something that indicated _more-_

And he had been told to delete it, but he hadn't. Clark's stomach rolls thinking about the huge betrayal of trust, and how Bruce would skin him alive if he ever found out.

But he can't bring himself to erase it, or watch it, for that matter. Either option fills him with unimaginable dread.

Yet the way fear blooms rapidly in his friend's eyes just at the sight of him... Clark clenches his eyes shut, fists tightening and loosening. He wants to grab the perpetrator by the neck and twist until something snaps. He wants to hold Bruce, dissolve the distress in his face...

Now, he stands before a screen in the Fortress of Solitude.

"I can't," Kal-El whispers into the air. "I can't, what am I thinking-"

Still facing the screen, he flies to the back of the room. Batman's cowled face stares up at him, delusional and scared and in pain. He can feel the rough push against his torso as the Dark Knight explodes out of his grip, as if he's a poison he needs to get away from.

He sees Bruce avoiding his eyes. Bruce has _never_ avoided eye contact. He's _always_ met his eyes head-on, even when lying straight to his face. As familiar as Bruce's heartbeat is, it doesn't skip a beat when he lies.

Something happened, and Clark needs to find out.

He sits before the screen, and presses play.

* * *

"Just the person I wanted to see," Hal Jordan announces as he strolls into the Watchtower's file base.

Batman tenses momentarily, before relaxing a fraction when he recognizes the obnoxious drawl of the Green Lantern. Usually, he would roll his eyes and fire back with some cutting edge remark (in this case, _"I as well,"_   might've done justice).

But he's busy right now.

"What, no scalding comment back? I'm _wounded,"_ Jordan presses a hand to his heart in mock despair. "Chill out, Spooky, I'm just here for some video records of that fight with Lex Luthor we had two weeks ago. Apparently, the Guardians suspect he's got ahold of some alien tech from who knows where."

Work. Bruce relaxes more. This is something he can talk about. "Adaptoid tech? It would explain the rapid advancement of his suit's versatility."

"Huh." Some shuffling of walking feet. "I hadn't thought of that, but it actually makes sense..."

Batman easily navigates the super-computer, digitally shifting through hundreds of files to retrieve the one he's searching for. The screen is a flashing, psychedelic mirage of rotating circles and groups of color-coded, alphabetically ordered cases. He takes pleasure in navigating the modern layout he's designed.

"Hey." Hal says right behind him, and Batman almost, _almost_ flinches.

"Do you mind?" He growls roughly, but there's a miniscule tremor in his voice.

"You've been _really_   off your game, Bruce. Not that I care, but... it's unnerving. You're never off your game." Hal looks puzzled and mildly worried. "Did something awful happen?"

 _Yes. It's always in the back of my mind, ready to explode in full picture before my eyes, no matter where I am or what I'm doing._ "No. I'm fine."

He continues typing. It's taking some time to track the file.

Why?

Then Hal's voice gets very, very quiet. "It's what happened with Clark's clone thing, isn't it?" 

Batman pauses for a full second now, fingers hovering over the keyboard before diving back down. It's an aggressive kind of typing now, a hard clack of the keys.

"It's none of your business."

"He tortured you, didn't he? Or... or did something bad, I don't know. You're looking for the video feed right now, aren't you?" No answer. "I know you think I'm stupid, but I'm not. And neither is Clark. He probably thinks you hate him... He's always looking like a wounded puppy now."

Bruce turns and looks at Hal. Blue clashing against brown. "It's none of your _business."_

"Believe it or not, I don't want you to spiral. Neither does Clark. Or the League, for that matter."

"The whole League is on my back?"

"No," Hal says simply. "At least, I don't think so. They don't seem to think you have a soft side. But I know you, Bruce." Jordan raises his hands, palms up, in an 'open-for-discussion' manner. "Tell me what happened. I swear it I won't tell anyone. If you say it out loud... maybe you'll feel better."

 _Does he know?_   Batman narrows his eyes at Hal.

No. He knows something happened, but he doesn't know exactly what.

Then Bruce turns back to the screen, at the code scrawling across it, and clenches his fists in sudden realization.


	5. the mean reds

"He took them."

Batman mentally and physically feels his entire world falling apart. A wall of feathers crumbling as the smallest breath of wind blows towards them, whistling between rows of soft teeth. Darkness has always existed inside him, but now it blooms in his heart, like a drop of ink spilled onto paper. He can only watch as the crackling lines of ebony branch out like a tree, seeping into every crevice of his being.

His head pounds and his mouth goes dry. Something vicious throbs over and over again within him, asking how could he have been so stupid, and why is this happening. Bruce's eyes go wide and he stumbles back, like the wind's been knocked out of him.

Someone's hands catch him. "Woah," Hal exclaims, "Easy. What's wrong? What are you talking about?"

"Don't touch me," Bruce snaps, and panic rises in his voice again. The arms immediately let go.

But the Green Lantern's eyes widen fractionally before narrowing, almost like he's realizing-

"Superman took them. The files. The video. He _can't_ watch it. He-" Bruce breathes rapidly. "You have to help me. Please. He can't- Oh God."

It feels like his throat is closing in on itself, like an allergic reaction. But it's not one. His breaths come in quick succession, and he sinks to his knees. He can't breathe, he can't _breathe, he can't-_

"Bruce!" The voice sounds like it's coming from far, far away. "Bruce, I think you're having a panic attack, it's okay. Bruce, you with me?" The cowl is pushed back from his head. "Holy shit, your face."

"Don't come near me," he says. Simultaneously, he wishes for Clark's face to go away and he also wishes that Clark were here to comfort him. Bruce screws his eyes shut, feeling all in the world like a scared ten-year old again. "Don't come closer."

"I'm not going to hurt you. I mean, you might hurt me, but I can't hurt you." Hal slides the ring off his finger, and glows brightly green for a second before fading back into regular human form- in jeans and a jacket, as always. "Just me. Just Hal."

Bruce tries desperately to control his breathing. It only gets worse.

"Think about your butler," Jordan tells him, stepping closer in the most non-threatening way possible, "Or, you know, whatever makes you happy. Bats or graveyards or nighttime."

And in a twist of irony, he thinks about Kal-El. _His_ Kal-El.

He thinks of his kind face and compassionate words, and all the times Superman's been annoyingly worried about him, and the moments he's caught him in the air or stayed in the Cave for hours at a time or followed him around...

And he focuses on the stillness of the air, how there is no danger here, and the only other person is Hal Jordan.

Gradually, Bruce begins to calm down. Hal sits down next to him, against the wall, a foot away.

A few minutes pass in silence. Then- "This is the first time I've ever seen you lose control."

Lose control. Control. _Control_. No control. It echoes in Batman's head, a painful symphony. "I still need your help." He looks at the other man, then, in a silent plea for help, a wordless request for valuable assistance.

"Alright." Hal slides his ring back on. "But you've got to tell me what happened to your face."


	6. meet me head-on

_The saddest part is, it looks exactly like Clark. Something evil lurks in its eyes, and there's some stubble splashed across the jaw, but other than that, everything is all Kal-El._

_Bruce screws his eyes shut._

* * *

Bruce observes his reflection for the first time since the Incident (that's what he's choosing to call it) in a mirrored aluminum wall stretching through the Watchtower. He once used this space for combat training, to analyze the visual form of his body when kicking out or throwing punches. He remembers hours fighting, releasing stress through sweat and throws.

"I remember you beating my ass in here all the time." Hal, of course, is nonchalant as ever. In his hand lies a half-eaten apple (God only knows where he got it from).

An immense, angry collection of scarlet and violet bruises are splattered over Bruce's left cheek, edging down onto his neck. A smaller one stands out right above his right eyebrow, and cuts litter various parts of his face.

The wounds look like he received them a mere minute ago.

"Let's go," he decides gruffly, pulling on the cowl.

Immediately, Hal throws the apple core away and encases the other superhero in an emerald bubble, shooting out of the tower ceiling as the plates elegantly unfold.

Behind them, they lock together again. Bruce and Hal reside in outer space, but not for long, because Hal starts toward the Earth at a speed that would make Darkseid nervous.

"A little too fast, Lantern?" Batman can barely get the words out while vibrating.

The Green Lantern waves an unconcerned hand and switches on his comm to directly voice Clark. "Hey, Supes, I'm on-planet and dealing with some trouble here... Knew you were just the man to call. Fly to" -he checks some coordinates- "6th and 7th Street in Metropolis, will ya?"

The reply comes back almost immediately. Clark sounds breathless, but in a strange way. There's a pause in between, almost like he's considering it. Then- "I'm on my way, Hal."

"Obvi. 6th and 7th... race you there!"

As they enter Earth's atmosphere, Jordan slows down indefinitely, and Batman finally gets the chance to glare. "Your choice of words never fail to irk me."

"Right back at you," and they're touching down onto the roof of a skyscraper. Batman steps out to feel the wind against him, caressing him even through the suit. It makes his cape flutter.

And not thirty seconds later, right after Hal says, "Beat him," under his breath, Superman is on the scene.

"I heard that," Kal-El tells Jordan, but then looks at the pair in confusion. "Why did you call me here? And why are you here, Bruce? I thought you needed help fighting some villains or something. Is something happening?"

"And that's my cue to leave," the Green Lantern flies up into the air before departing, "Gotta let the grown-ups conspire."

"Kal-El," Bruce steps forward, pushing the name out of his mouth, "We have to talk."


	7. look

Two figures, stock-still on a roof, boldly distinguished under the sun's peak. One is a burst of vivid color, cape fluttering in the wind, and the other remains dark and silent, heavy cape draped around one shoulder.

Neither talk.

The wind blows harder.

"You've been..." Swallow, try again. "You've been acting strange. Around me. Or just in general, I don't know. I.." The words seem to hang, limply, in the air, before crashing down onto the ground.

They dissolve into plaster and concrete.

"I know you have the tape." Batman betrays no emotion on his face, just stating facts like reading out of a missions report, but his fists are clenched. The cowl is down, hiding and obscuring, but the hard line of his mouth impassive as ever. "You can't..."

"What? I can't... I can't watch it?" Superman demands, mouth tight. Cars rush by and tourists swarm thirty stories below them, but the world might as well be nonexistent. "Something happened and I need to know what, so I can- I can fix it."

"There's nothing to fix. I'll get over it."

"But why-" Clark takes a step forward, wringing his hands in frustration, and immediately, Batman draws back. The thump-thump-thump grows into _thump-thump-thum-thum-thum-_

"It rose," he says.

"Are you listening to my heartbeat?" Bruce asks quietly. His mouth is dry. He feels on edge, tense, muscles a tight cord down his body. He could snap.

"Why did it rise?"

* * *

_"I can hear your heartbeat rising," it whispers into his ear. "Already so excited?"_

_He doesn't say a word._

_A slap across the face, so hard his neck snaps to the side. "Answer me."_

_"Why," Bruce whispers, and he can feel his face purpling._

* * *

"I can't tell you why," Batman croaks, out of a desert mouth. "But you're my best friend, and my ally, and my teammate, and I feel it will be a danger to the League if you see it. You may have certain emotions about it, which is out of anyone's control, and then everything would be affected."

The sky is so blue today.

"You're afraid of me." Flat. Emotionless. Color sucked out of those eyes. "You're afraid... of me."

Bruce says, "No," but he has to work not to take another step back when the Man of Steel comes closer. He observes the ebony hair and kind face, now bunched up in anger, and there's fury in those blue eyes.

For a moment, he thinks that fury is directed at him.

"I'm going to find that copycat," Kal-El tells him quietly. "I'm going to find him and I'm going to kill him." 

"No," Bruce says again (he's always saying it and he's getting tired of saying it). "You can't, Kal-El. You have to calm down...


	8. an interlude of sorts

"My biggest fear," Kal-El says, "is being feared by the people I love."

"Love?"

And the Kryptonian leaves.

* * *

The video is one hour and twenty-two minutes in length.

Kal-El watches it, up the point where he can bear no more of it.


	9. Chapter 9

_"A little off your game today," is the first thing Bruce hears as he steps into the Watchtower's private quarters. Of course, that's not true._

_"I came in here to catch a break, Clark," he retorts, "Not be hounded by your false accusations."_

_A chuckle, and then footsteps padding lightly behind him. He might take a quick shower, update those files he hasn't had time for, and-_

_There's a tight grip on his arm. And the grip becomes so tight it's on the verge of breaking his arm._

_Bruce turns around to say what the hell are you-_

_It's not Clark._

_It is Clark, on the outside. The hair is black and curled, blue eyes, blue suit, red_ S _splattered across his chest. Same physique, same face, same cape. But his face- he wears an expression of malice Bruce has never seen before. A light wave of stubble across his jaw- No, that's not right._

_He's not right._

_"Clark." Bruce says, and his voice would sound exactly the same to anyone but..._

_"Scared, aren't you," the thing grins horribly. Bruce feels it a violation, the way he twists his lips and makes a terrible mess out of beautiful features._

_Mustering all his strength, Batman yanks his arm out of the other man's hold. He already begins planning an escape route, from the simulation floor to the fake wall. How did an intruder get into such private quarters? And why? H_ _e just needs the kryptonite, to weaken him... enough..._

_He reaches for his belt, and realizes, with a cold wind of breath, that the familiar lead casing is not there._

_Icy gales flit through his skull, and dims out every light that had been circulating inside. As if mimicking his mind, the quarter's lights begin lowering out, pair by pair, and the temperature drops._

_"Looking for your kryptonite? It's not there." Superman steps closer._

_But it's always_ _there._

 _"I_ _'m excited to do this, actually. I've been waiting awhile."_

_A silent, fierce question in Batman's eyes._

_And then he is hit across the face so hard he flies through the room entirely, and lands with a thump on the other side._

_The impact shocks Bruce to the core, knocking the air from him, and one side of his face is already melting into a mirage of red and purple- he can feel it. What is this? A demon, or illusion (mind games?), or a shape-shifter-_

_A sudden burst of wind and Superman is right in front of him, mouth a grim line, one eyebrow raised. And he does the unthinkable-_

_He kisses him._

_It's hard and long and unforgiving, and Batman is so surprised he stays stock-still for a second, and then he's bringing his own fist around, with tremendous force, out of astonishment and anger._

_Superman's head twists a little to the side, and his eyes go wide. Anger flares up in them, and he says, "You pack quite a punch."_

_Bruce is grabbed by the cape and hurled against the wall. The force renders him nearly unconscious, fighting to stay awake, struggling to stand back up. He counts his injuries. Assesses the damage. If he can keep the thing talking, he can learn more. Extract more information._

_Find out what makes him tick._

_Why did he kiss him? It's not like Clark and he- it's not like-_

_Before he can even open his mouth, Superman is a whirlwind._

_(Too fast. He's moving too quickly.) Batman can't keep track of what he's doing, what he's thinking._

_Superman stands naked in front of him._

_"What the hell," Bruce croaks, and his eyes can't even process what's happening in real time. One minute the alien stands, in all his gloryness, blazing with light, and the next he is pushing him up against the wall._

_One leg in between both of his. Fingers of Kryptonian power, able to bend to its will. Pressing into his hip. Neck. Chest. Face. "You're not saying much," it whispers into his ear. "Speechless?"_

_It's startlingly clear, now, to see what he's going to do to him._

_"Is this not how you imagined it?"_

_A sick feeling rises up his throat. Like bile. He has_ _imagined it before, it's- no. No. Never. He's never thought-_

 _He hears the click of his suit being deftly undone, the different armored plates clattering as they fall to the ground._   _For the first time in his life, words fail to meet his lips and overflow, fall out to the ground. They remain lodged in the throat._

_Cowl off. Cape down. It doesn't make sense._

_Batman is being touched, in all the wrong ways, by Superman. A fake Superman. A Superman with a sneer on his face, unkind words, and forceful hands._

_And no one else is there to stop it._

_He's being raped._

_By Superman._

_Rape. Sexual Assault. He's being-_

_Superman kisses him again. Batman is still, not responding in the slightest. He won't give in to this imposter. When he pulls back, Bruce asks, "Who are you? What do you want?"_

_"You already know who I am."_

_"A fake-" A busted rib makes his breath hitch "-Superman. You're not him."_

_A smirk._

_"You won't gain anything from this." Bruce glares.The words are an utter lie, and they both know it._

_Then Superman pushes in, and Bruce feels complete and utter agony. He can feel bitter shame rising up in his mouth and inside him. He can only work his mouth in pain, as Superman moves beyond the speed of human capability._

_"I can hear your heartbeat rising," it whispers into his ear. "Already so excited?"_

_He doesn't say a word._

_A slap across the face, so hard his neck snaps to the side. "Answer me."_

_"Why," Bruce whispers, and he can feel his face purpling._

_His face is pushed into the red cape._

_The only sounds in the room are his ragged breathing. The Man of Steel is not fazed in the slightest._

_"Strange," Clark says, "I was expecting more resistance."_

_He speeds up. His grip becomes tighter and tighter, on the verge of breaking bone, and Bruce shouts in pain. The grip lessens, but there are still bruises. Hands painfully grip his thighs._

_The Man of Steel smiles in pleasure. His hands are tight on his thighs._

_Bruce is master of every martial art. He has traveled the world to find the right ways to fight, regain strength, struggle out of the impossible situations, make invaluable tools from nothing. He knows everything and anything about escape and inner stability._

_He forgets all of it as his best friend rips his bare skin open and defiles him. Batman's thoughts scatter like fish in a pond as his blood is drawn._

_"Why are you doing this," Bruce says, voice hoarse. His ribs might be broken. A concussion is definitely coming on. "What are you." Repetition. He's already asked. He might get an answer, he might not._

_"The Man of Steel, of course." A smirk._ _The fingers on his legs tighten._

 _"You're not him. Superman... Superman would_ never _do this."_

 _"Look at me," Not-Clark growls, and forces Batman's face to his. Forces their eyes to meet. "I_ am _Superman." With that, he slams Bruce back again with one arm, jostling a cracked rib. The hand on his thigh edges the verge of breaking bone and then clamps down, fracturing his femur._

_The pain, in his already weakened state, makes his vision blur, but he doesn't cry out. No sound escapes him. Only a defiant silence, and that is louder than anything._

_"Your body is mine to use," Superman snarls, and the worst part is, through the pain, the blood, and the shame, Bruce feels his arousal coming to life._

_He can't stop it._

_And Superman laughs. "Look at you, you filthy slut. You want me."_

_Bruce looks into clear blue eyes, and spits as hard as he can. "Not_ you."

 _As he rocks with the force of Superman within him, he closes his eyes and thinks only of_ his _Kal-El. Not this imposter, this trespasser, this intruder..._


	10. escape

Kal-El can't breathe. Something has shattered before his eyes, a shard of translucent glass fragmenting into thousands of dull pieces.

As the video continues mercilessly, he shuts off the controls, and it's only the Fortress's reinforced materials that prevent him from ripping clean through the expensive technology. Otherwise, he would've crumpled the screen like paper between his fingers.

_Why didn't you-_

* * *

-tell me?" His arms dangle at his sides, head hung low in a sign of submission. Something in him feels filthy, dirty. Something, someone just like him- defiled Bruce. Hurt him. Took something irreplaceable from him.

"Because I knew you would blame yourself for something that wasn't even your fault." Batman doesn't turn away from his computers. The harsh light of the monitors glare down at him, in the empty silence of the Cave. "Clark, I told you not to watch it."

"He- It wasn't- I should've been there. There should be emergency controls in the quarters, or something, I should've-"

"Should've what?" The voice is gruff and curt. "You were saving people halfway across the world, most likely. The other members were occupied. This was an infiltration. Someone is targeting us."

"Are you angry?" He's quiet.

"That you watched it? Quite." Bruce taps something on the screen, and his gauntleted hands curl into fists. "You need to understand, Clark. The way that thing... violated me, it- disgusted me. It's shameful. I was weak enough to let it, and I'm still weak so as to be unnerved around you."

"You're _not_ weak."

 _My biggest fear is being feared by the people I love._ He meant it as a brotherly love, a love for his partner in crime. Nothing more.

Batman takes off his cowl and turns around in his chair. Superman, previously staring at the floor, is now looking up, a fierce light in his eyes. It grows brighter at the sight of Bruce's mottled face. "What can I do?" Kal-El says, spreading his hands wide. "I'll do anything to help... I'll stay away, if that's what you want. I'll..."

"Don't do anything. It's my own problem." Bruce sits there, armored up, gray-blue eyes piercing. The familiar blaze is in those eyes, but there's a certain vulnerability to them. Clark wants nothing more than to touch him, comfort him, _love_ him...

And he thinks of the incident. No. Bruce, love him? After he- he-

"The only way you can help me, is if you catch the thing that did this, and find out its plan. As of right now, the League is in danger." Bruce pulls the cowl back down, turning around. "Get some rest."

"You too," Clark wants to say, but he can only nod numbly and leave.

* * *

It all makes sense now, to Clark. Why Bruce has jumped from his touch. Why he wouldn't allow him to x-ray his body. Why the sight of his power, and the destruction he causes, makes him grimace. Why he's wary and on-edge.

He holds fear for him.

_Signs of a concussion. Two broken ribs. Lacerations across the collarbone. Fractured femur. A recently dislocated shoulder._

_And bruises. Lots of bruises. Splattered across the inner thighs, the back, his arms, one particularly prominent one on his face. Just above the edge of the cowl. Cuts. Gashes. Bones on the verge of breaking._

Superman puts his face in his hands. And when Bruce shouted, so deadly, so calmly, "Not you"- did that mean... could it mean-

No. Denial. Never.

Kal-El rises, disgusted with himself. He rises into the sky. Passerby underneath him stop and stare. "It's Superman! Hey, look, it's Superman!"

The insigma on his chest feels like a broken scar. His cape, a hideous flaw. He flies up, up into the air, where the clouds circle him like swans in flight and the air gets thinner.

 _"...Wasn't your fault,"_ Bruce had said. He knows it isn't. It can't be. That monster wasn't Clark, he was a creature with the same powers, the same face, the same costume...

He _feels_ like it's his fault. He feels like he personally locked the Watchtower, trapped Batman, and raped him.

"Rape," he whispers to himself, a heavy word on his tongue. It sounds surreal.

He wasn't the one who attacked Bruce.

He wasn't-

He shoots up with a sudden burst of speed, with a sonic boom, heading towards the great abyss of outer space. Anything to get away.


	11. fighting emptiness

Bruce had been angry. So, so angry. He had tasted it in his mouth, in between his teeth; the fury that rose underneath his skin and made him itch to smash a knuckle across the jaw of his best friend.

Clark had betrayed his trust. He had went and watched it, most likely a good length of it, if not all. He had watched a long duration of filth, where Bruce had been exposed and helpless.

He was angry.

But he also saw Clark, afterwards. He saw the downturn of his lips, and the sorrow in his eyes, and the furrow of his brow. The shuffling of his feet, head hanging low, dejected, self-loathing, already hanging onto the conclusion that Bruce would never want to set eyes on his face again.

That wasn't true. It was far from true.

So Batman pushed down his anger, because deep down, he knew that anger wasn't even directed at Superman. It was directed at the thing that had pretended to be Superman, and at the world, and at the unfairness and injustice of it all.

The anger pulsing at his head was directed at the fact that he and Clark's relationship would never be the same again.

In one hour and twenty-two minutes, his dignity had been shattered, shame brought to life, and body labeled as something he despised. In one hour and twenty-two minutes, a thin, finite thread between he and Clark had been snapped.

Irreversible.

Batman rises in the Cave, and unclips the heavy armored plates of his suit. The pieces fall, one by one, until a mess of black is strewn across the floor. He breathes, not thinking about the way his suit was taken apart before. Before was rough hands tearing each plate off, eager to get inside. Now, _he_ controls it. He unclips every garment, watching his own hands work.

He is in control. No one else.

Everything is off and his cowl is removed, and now he's Bruce Wayne. Not Batman and not Brucie. Just Bruce Wayne. Still breathing, he throws on a pair of loose shorts and a white tank top, heading towards the training room.

He does what he does best: put his anger to use.

* * *

Superman floats endlessly in space, tuning out the voices below. Hear, there is no sound, and no life. Just silence, threatening to fill him up, and the twinkling of distant stars. The moon, cratered and gray, rotating to his left.

Outer space is much darker, he thinks, than most people would expect.

He hovers still, in Zero-G. Thinking.

A noise more familiar than he would like to admit, begins below.

* * *

He doesn't know how long he's been doing it.

Bruce takes a bruising punch to the bag, throwing all his weight into it, feeling the satisfactory shift of it. His breathing is sharp and irregular, but the feeling is good. He feels strong. Definitely in control.

Two jabs from the left. A roundhouse kick. Right uppercut, a couple of straight punches in a row. And in the silence, he thinks back to the one thing he's trying not to think about.

Bruce grits his teeth and hits hard. If only he were stronger.

Another. If only he were smarter.

More. If only he was more careful, more alert.

Again. If only he were capable of dealing with such a problem.

He hits and hits and hits until he's not sure if the punching bag is that, a punching bag, or something else. His knuckles bruise, bleed, split. Bruce can't bring himself to stop. It just feels too good, letting all his rage flow out in an unstoppable torrent.

Dry mouth. He can't tell if it hurts.

Punch.

Hook.

Punch.

Bruce closes his eyes and thinks of the incident. He hits harder than ever, releasing an angry yell. Why did this happen to him? Why did it have to? And why did it have to come in the form of the man he- he-

He stops.

"Bruce?" The voice is soft, and tentative; it comes from behind him. A voice he's known for years. Bruce stands there, drenched in sweat, only able to breathe heavily and stare ahead, at the bag. The seam is tearing.

He doesn't give a shit.

"Bruce, my God, you're bleeding." Slowly, Bruce looks down to see his ruined hands, blood dripping from his left, staining the floor. Clark is at his side in an instant, and Bruce is so lost he doesn't even flinch. He's exhausted.

He turns, then, to those clear eyes. Superman gestures at Bruce's hands, whispering, "Can I-" and Bruce, to his own surprise, nods curtly with a jerk of his head, and in the next moment, Clark is bandaging them.

"Why would you hurt yourself like this?" The red is already staining through the white. "God, Bruce, I don't-" _want you to get hurt._ He bites his lip on the words. "I-"

"Stop," Bruce says roughly, hoarsely, and Superman immediately pauses. "Stop pretending... you care. I don't need your pity. I don't want it."

Anger flashes through Kal-El's eyes, and it immediately dies down as Bruce takes a step back. Clark says, "Bruce, of course I care about you. You're my best friend. Where would I be- what would I do- without you?" Bruce closes his eyes, swallowing. "I'm not giving you pity. I know that you would never want pity. I'm only unhappy, because you're unhappy."

A short bark of a laugh. "I'm always unhappy."

"No, but..." The faint tremor of a smile appears on Clark's face. "I care about you. You can't think, for one second ever, that I don't."

Bruce opens his eyes, and an unrecognizable feeling goes through him. It's as if his soul has been detatched from his body, and all that remains is a lifeless shell of what he once was. "No. Not in the way-" He closes his mouth. Opens it again. "Please leave, Clark. Kal-El." He turns around. "Please."

"Bruce-"

"Go."

A few moments, and then Superman is gone.

* * *


	12. the neverending battle

Bruce had forgotten what it felt like to be uncomfortable, to be aware of someone's presence but unable to do anything about it. Sure, he could spend hours in impossible positions because of the training he had underwent.

Pain is just a trick of the mind.

But this _knowing_ that endlessly tortured him, seemed to be the most uncomfortable thing of all. The blue eyes of Clark trailing after him, the sound of his words close in the comms, and sometimes the arm around him, flying him safely to the ground.

Bruce knows they are both just about to explode with unsaid words, and the scary thing is, he's not sure if he can even decipher his own thoughts. It's a muddle of _Kal-El_ and _love,_ and-

"You should talk to him."

He looks up, and there's nothing in his expression or movements that gives away his surprise. But Diana Prince reads people well, and she can especially see through her close comrade.

"Just right now," she continues, "You were thinking about it." Her voice is low and quiet, so the other League members don't pry. "Say what you must to each other. The League can't have its leaders in a broken state."

Slowly, Bruce looks into her eyes, the same color that mirror his. She has always carried an ethereal beauty, with her vivid costume and the silver headpiece glinting right above those fierce cerulean eyes. Out of the trinity, she has always had the brightest eyes.

"Is it that obvious?" He feels bone-tired, fatigued to the very tips of his feet. Diana shifts a little, and her black hair spills over one shoulder.

"No," she replies, and it's the truth. "But I know you two better than my own heart, at times. There is a great divide." Watchful gaze. The quirk of her lips. "Though you are both smart, and excellent at hiding your emotions. But Clark, I daresay, is worse."

"Wonder Woman! A little help here?" In the distance, the Flash struggles to contain a crowd of civilians attempting to push into the destruction of the scene they've just secured. Bruce narrows his eyes.

"I am needed. But please take into consideration, what I have said." With that, she turns and launches into the air.

It's been a week. One frightful week of this agonizing awareness, and one week since Clark watched the security footage and Bruce was angry and he pushed him away after his heart-

The barriers break. Confusion leaps up like a question in Batman's mind. Why are these people so desperate to come towards them? Unless...

He turns, then, and automatically locks eyes with Superman. Understanding sparks between them. For a moment, it feels like _before,_ where they knew all of each other's thoughts and gestures and nobody was pushing anyone away.

Then Bruce almost scoffs to himself. When had things ever been not complicated between them?

But there were bigger issues at hand. The Flash looks alarmed, and Diana is angry but puzzled, as well. Batman opens up his comms. "The civilians aren't running towards us... They're running away from something. Open the rest of the barriers and let them cross through."

Understanding dawns on Barry's face, underneath the red mask. "Flash, help the people. As fast as you can." A grin, and then a blur of scarlet movement. Bruce switches to a more direct line. "Superman... come with me. To see what's frightened them."

Kal-El nods, and then they're both heading towards the crowds, diverging above the midst of people. He feels Clark at his shoulder before he even sees him.

A quiet voice. "Bruce, about last week-"

"This is hardly," Batman dodges a fleeing student, "the place, or time." His voice has an edge to it, and he immediately regrets saying it so harshly.

"You're right. I'm sorry."

"No. No, I'm sorry, I..." _Say what you must to each other._ "We'll talk; I promise. Just after this."

Superman's expression changes from one of hurt and despair to relieved and something as close to happy as you can get during a life-threatening mission. His heart feels lighter, though. There's no doubt about that.

An explosion sounds in the distance- judging by the noise and smoke, Batman's bet is on a short-range bomb. He curses, and they speed up towards the inner city. There's something familiar glinting there, but he can't quite put his finger on what it is.

A few screams. Someone yells, "What is it?" The terror is a drastic contrast to the beautiful weather in Metropolis today. The sun shines, reflecting off the polished glass of skyscrapers, and the gold finish of...

"Luthor," Superman snarls, but disbelief widens his eyes. "Luthor's suit." It's a dizzying gold, different from the usual green. But that's not what catches them off guard.

It's the hideous creature parading next to Luthor.

And as they watch, it catches sight of Superman, and with a malicious smile twisting its face, the thing morphs, transforming in a smooth miracle, until it is a carbon copy of Kal-El. Everything from the flutter of the red cape to the black curl of hair resting atop his forehead, is exactly the same.

It laughs.

Bruce has never wanted to kill anything more.


	13. demons and angels

_"You,"_   Superman snarls, because it's all he can press through his mouth without anger spilling forwards in a torrent, and zooms towards his now, copy. The thing transforms back, in a split second, and Batman can't help but curl his lip in utter disgust. Instinctively, he reaches for his belt.

Luthor's monster is a gigantic, dripping thing of sharp incisors and putrid skin. Ivory lines are wrapped around its body, and though Batman thinks it to be some kind of war paint at first, on closer examination it appears to be living trails of bone protruding from its internal skeleton. Where its eyes should be lie two enormous craters of molten red, and when it stretches its mouth apart, rows and rows of teeth, in circular arrays, line the inside.

Smoke shrouds the bottom half of its body, and there are things crawling, trying to break free from the roiling coils of mist heavily condensing. As its gaze shifts from Superman to Batman, crimson light trails after the path of its sight like a glitch on film.

Superman has his fist wound back, about to throw a slamming punch, when the demon morphs again. He grows a black cape, gray suit, and a cowl that elongates into ears. The bat insignia blooms on the chest.

Clark hesitates for a split-second, but that's all the time it needs to strike forward, and the Man of Steel is instantly shrouded in smoke.

"Superman!" Bruce yells, and the League is rushing behind him, and civilians are screaming, but everything tunes out because what is happening to Clark- what is the demon doing to him- is he alright?- he-

Then a fierce battle cry, and gray explodes from a center as Superman breaks free. It reforms into the hideous creature it is, snarling all the while at its lost prey, but Superman is already high up in the sky. Once at a safe height, he surveys the area below while looping around to the ground.

* * *

 But it's hard to focus when anger threatens to crush his mind. Clark only wants to hit and hit and hit until the thing lies twitching, dead, bloodied, on the ground.

* * *

 Below, it turns to Batman. It laughs. "Go back to hell," Bruce growls.

"I'm not from hell," It claws at the ground, approaching. Bruce tenses. "I was beautiful too, once."

"And now what? You're jealous, so you go around destroying things?" _Destroying me?_ His fingers climb to the back of his belt. Could he even use smoke pellets against... smoke? "Why are you working for Lex? What's he promised you? Money? Eternal youth?"

* * *

 Clark gathers himself, forcing deep breaths.

* * *

"And what the hell _are_ you?"

The creature folds in upon himself, suddenly, and the world seems to stand still for a second, and then it's combusting in a fiery explosion of the brightest, deepest red Bruce has ever seen.

It grows in size, showing a true, demonic form, and he understands.

 _"I am Akem Manah,"_ it says, and its voice is like a thousand razors grinding together at once. _"The demon of evil intention."_ Behind the smoke, Bruce can see the white-pale mask of a skull, and then enormous, curling black horns, like that of a ram. And he can see the flickering image- the horrifying entity, and then something else- something gone and faded, but something that used to be there, something beautiful and divine-

Quicker than anything in the world, it surges forward and entraps Batman, and all he can see is black.

* * *

"Bruce!" Diana screams from a distance away, but Superman is already staring down in utter, absolute horror. He had been about to fly down when the thing changed- into something big, a deity not from this world, all fire and blazing.

Then it caught...

He zooms down the fastest he's ever gone, the burst of air from a sonic boom only distantly reaching his ears, as he searches for Bruce within a dark mass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> akem manah, also called akoman or avkan, is a real demon myth of Zoroastrianism (one of the world's oldest monotheistic religions). he's "a demon of sensual desire."


	14. the warp of death

When the black dissolves, all Bruce can see is white. Nothingness. A blank, eternal space that looks to stretch on forever.

And then out of nothing, comes everything. Superman stands there, feet outstretched, cape fluttering although there's no wind. Then his eyesockets melt into his head, fiery blazes of burning orange flame, and the cape seems to droop and drip down onto the floor until it's blood, and the inconspicuous suit fades away into bone, the red and blue melting into a ribcage, a femur, a spine. He stretches out a skeletal hand, and the fingers elongate until they begin to drip and the blood and the black climb across the floor to Bruce, into Bruce...

A faint, faint yell in the far distance. Bruce's whole world is turned upside down, and it feels like he's being spit back out of something. His heart is hammering, climbing up into his throat, and his mouth is dry. When he opens his eyes, he can see the League heading towards him, but it's not them. They're all as half-dead as Superman was, dragging blood across asphalt to smear on him, choke him, gag him-

As if moving through water or thick quick sand, he finds his hand and sets it down on the ground. Then the other. And he rises so he balances precariously on his knees, and then he's retching into the ground. Everything swirls and warps, distorting, and he can't find his own brain through the hazy thoughts.

Bruce wipes his mouth. All of a sudden, as if someone were shouting ferociously right in his eardrum, comes a call. "Bruce!" Who is Bruce? That is his name. "Bruce!" He turns then, slowly as his head will allow, and Superman stands there.

Superman splits into two, then three, and all of them circle around him with torn uniforms and exposed bone. They all melt back together into one, but he begins to melt, darkening, into something else hideous and grotesque. Bruce only watches in horror,  blood rushing in fear, as the eyeballs drop out of his skull and the sockets fester with cracking and drying blood; the arms and legs hang as the skin peels off from them, layer by layer, and there is no bone underneath the flesh.

Superman reaches into his chest, and rips the chunk of himself out, taking the "S" with it. But there is only an empty space where the heart should be, a cavernous hole of emptiness where arteries are already clotting and veins are blackening.

The Man of Steel reaches out this time, and his long, bone fingers slide over Bruce's skin, touching, feeling, violating...

"No," Bruce says hoarsely, barely audible over the pounding of his own heart drum, then says, "GET AWAY FROM ME." He thinks he shouts it. He's still on his knees, struggling to stay upright, hands on the ground.

* * *

"GET AWAY," Batman screams, and his hands curl and face contorts into something of genuine, pure terror.

"What's wrong with Batman?" Flash asks, but there's none of the usual humor in his voice, only fear for someone else. Barry stands shock-still, as if he were right above a landmine, and he knows something is very, very wrong.


	15. love in its purest form

"Let him go," Superman roars, and he explodes into the air, tearing his eyes away from his best friend, cowering from him. Fury threatens to claw any self-control left in him, out. "Lex! What the hell are you doing? Unleashing a demon onto Earth? It'll eat you up, right after it rips apart Metropolis."

A heavy thud on the road. Two golden mechanical feet, leading up to the structured suit encasing the billionaire's bald head. "Actually, you have it wrong this time, Superman. I hired my friend here, you see."

* * *

"Get out of my head," Bruce screams, and stumbles back.

* * *

The smoke churns and ripples, eating up the pretty blue of the sky. Just ashes and gray downfall. A swirling storm of clouds and dark _things_ in the air.

Kent surges forward. " _Hired_ it? Did you get the new paint job from it, too?"

"Oh, I was just feeling a change," Luthor sneers.

* * *

Everything fades into black. But then the nothingness comes back, and it's just white for miles. In front of him, a figure materializes. It's, of course, no one other than Superman.

This time, Clark doesn't dissolve, or grow into a grotesque image of bone and blood. He's just Superman. He smiles, and says something, and Bruce can't make out the words because it feels like they're talking underwater. Everything is slow and blurry. The image of him is unrefined, not sharp at the edges.

Then he comes forward and touches him, and Bruce is falling. He falls and falls and falls, but all the while he is being undressed, restrained, and picked apart in that same white space.

He feels cold hands running up his thighs, his chest, the length of his legs. "No," he says, over and over, but it won't stop. He looks down, and there are fresh bruises lining the inside of his thighs. Bruce looks up and sees the face he has seen for years, and can't connect the wounds to the face.

"My Superman would never do this," he whispers in a small voice, and the Man of Steel seems to grow in size, overwhelm him, overtake him.

"I am Superman," it says simply, as if that cancels out everything.

"You're _not_ ," Batman musters all of his strength and pushes the other man away, flying through the wall behind him with a ripple, "the Superman _I_ know."

Relief courses through his veins at the prospect of escape, but black tendrils of doubt reach for him from the air. He can't fight it for long, and then it catches him again, and the same scene appears.

"Your body is mine to use," Clark sneers.

Bruce opens his eyes, even through the blur, and his vision sharpens. The words sound so much clearer.

He looks at the menacing smirk, the cold blue eyes, and he closes his own. In his mind comes a faint picture of _his_ Clark.

Conflicting in the beginning. They had fought, countless times, over the course of the League and battle strategies and clues and mysteries and powers. Said untrue things. Lashed out. Bruce remembers shouting, you would be nothing if not for your powers.

It's not true. It was never true. He remembers fighting then, side by side and then back to back, a shared grin here, a punch on the shoulder there- and the familiar, comforting feeling of Clark's arms catching him in the sky.

Superman always had his back.

They bonded then, became two parts of a whole. A strange duo of bright, flashing red and blue alongside the inky black. Long, snapping capes. Bruce remembers defending Superman to the League. Grateful words. Shared smiles. The cold, satisfactory feeling of defeating a villain, and then that feeling being amplified as he looks at Clark.

The relief, the colossal, great relief, of saving the Earth. A few times. Always a buzzing happiness he could just relax into, with the steady presence of Kal-El at his shoulder. Being rescued. Rescuing the other.

Countless nights in the Cave, with welcome company. Although he'd never admit he liked Clark around- but he had a feeling Clark knew anyway. The respect in his eyes at League meetings. Concern when he took a hit. Anger when he put himself in danger for the others.

There was everyone else: strong, determined, brave, eyes shining with the intellect and beautiful courage that made them members of the Justice League. But always, with a halo around him, standing at the front, there was Superman.

And then the feelings. There were so many heart aching, puzzling, stupid feelings. The azure of Clark's eyes, and the impeccable curls of his hair. The structured face of a Greek god, all chiseled lines and deep eyes. The muscular reach of his torso, corded legs, rigid body. It made Bruce's mouth go dry.

His body pressed against him, hugged tightly around him, when he fell from the sky. His back, as they fought three hundred-sixty.

The warm compassion in his face, the open honesty, the love.

And finally, Kal-El's steady heartbeat.

Bruce opens his eyes. Time has frozen, but the once frightening figure of fake-Superman in front of him seems as fragile and delicate as thin glass.

"You're not him," he says loudly. "You're not my Kal-El."

Nothing moves. Color fades away.

"I know Kal-El," Bruce says, "And I love him."

He breathes, then, slowly and carefully, and the imposter crumbles away like a sandcastle drowned by an ocean wave, until nothing at all remains.


	16. THE CONCLUSION

Bruce doesn't remember what happened afterwards.

The first time he comes around, he's lying on the infirmary bed, cowl off. He's bare-chested, covered with a thin blanket. He sits up immediately, sight blurry, recognizing the League's concerned faces looming above him.

"What the hell-" Bruce, as usual, tries to climb out of bed.

J'onn stops him. "Batman, you must rest. That demon took a lot out of you."

Demon. Akem Manah. The terror that had run through his veins, the fear of Superman approaching, the struggle within the smoke. The memories come rushing back. But in the end, he had destroyed the fear, the fear of-

He looks around, belatedly realizing that out of the faces there, Clark is not one of them. His relief and startling happiness slowly dissipates.

The Flash enthusiastically retells events. "The monster thing was all in your head, and Superman was losing, but you totally slammed him! The demon, I mean. You just yelled and this smoke exploded out of you"- he mimes an exaggerated combustion -"and slashed at it, and it just crumbled to pieces! It was so badass! Superman was so surprised. Then the demon just kind of, well, evaporated, and next thing, you're falling, but then we kicked Luthor's ass right after-"

"I think that's enough, Barry," Diana raises an eyebrow, but there's kindness in her voice.

Allen rubs the back of his neck. "Yeah, sorry, it was just exciting. Feel better, though, Bats."

Having listened to these events in quick succession, Bruce rolls over onto his side and throws an arm over his eyes. "Thanks, Barry." Then- "Now everyone, get out. Leave me be."

He predicts that their eyebrows are raising, exchanging surprised glances, but then turning up their lips in amused smiles: same old Bats. Hal says, "Grumpy already, Spooky? That might actually be a new record."

"Especially you, Jordan, you're a pain in the ass," Bruce mutters, but complying to his wishes, the League begins to exit the infirmary. "Call if you need anything," Diana tells him by his bedside, and then she's gone, too.

Something hurts his mind, though. Where is Clark?

Bruce lets himself slip into the darkness.

* * *

When he opens his eyes again, the view of outer space is still much the same. Distant stars twinkle in and out of view, occasional streaks of fiery comets streak by, and the Earth, steady and blue-green, rotates slowly beneath them, as always.

But what's changed is the nervous looking man frozen in an awkward position in the corner of the room: halfway between standing and sitting in a chair. A familiar pair of round frame glasses are perched to the small table nearby. "Bruce, God, I'm so sorry- did I wake you? I didn't mean to, I'm-"

Automatically, Bruce sits up and almost regrets it, at the sharp pain flaring in his ribs. _Almost,_ because Clark is here, and a small flower of elation blooms in his chest.

"Clark," he only says, and the man is at his side in a second, pushing him back down onto the bed.

"Lie back down, are you crazy? You're hurt," Kal-El exclaims frantically, while Bruce resists.

"Where were you? When I woke up?"

Clark's face falls. "I'm sorry, Bruce, I really am, I came as soon as possible when I heard you were awake, but you were sleeping, and I just- I waited. I was going to get coffee, right now."

"Coffee? How long was I out?"

"From the last time you were awake? Fourteen hours, maybe." He pauses. "You're drained."

"Where were you?" Bruce doesn't know what makes him cling onto the question. It just seems important.

"I was- I... I just..." Kal-El stops and takes a breath. "I didn't know if you wanted to see me, Bruce." His voice is low, quiet, unsure. "I thought... I could guess what that demon made you see. I didn't know... God, I..."

And in the middle of it all Bruce latches onto something in his heart.

"Kal-El," he whispers, and the tenderness and intimacy and unexpectedness of it has Clark momentarily still. Bruce breathes in the scent of his Clark, the sight of him, and his chest seizes in something far from pain.

Bruce takes the opportunity, and pulls the other man down by his shirt until their lips are meeting, like two long-lost lovers. Now, he only tastes _his_ Kal.


	17. THE CONCLUSION ii.

"I know, for sure, that demon's not coming back," Clark whispers.

Sunlight filters in through the blinds, overlaying the figure sprawled in the silk sheets with thick strips of yellow. The air outside is crisp, after a damp night of drizzle, but the sun shines victoriously on. Bruce lies on his side, rising and falling with every breath, the blankets draped carelessly around his hips. Pools of light illuminate the exposed lines of skin, flooding every dip and curve of his chest.

"You conquered it. I just know," Clark repeats, tentatively reaching out to run a hand through the soft, black hair, marveling that this god is someone he belongs to. Someone belonging to him. "I can feel it, here"- he touches his heart -"inside."

There's no reply, just a soft rustle as Bruce shifts in bed. Clark lies rumpled, in dirty civvies, to the side, hair messed up and glasses somewhere forgotten. He only takes in the overwhelming sight of a beautiful body, a ruggedly handsome face, and the man that still makes his heart stutter like a teenage girl's, after all this time.

"I love you," he continues, "And I can't put it into words, just how much I love you."

Blue eyes flutter open. A whisper: "You don't have to."


	18. epilogue

"Luthor's locked up in one of them fancy cells," James Gordon says matter-of-factly from the other end of the line. "They took his suit- real flashy- and it can do some really innovative stuff, apparently, so they're taking it apart. That's all I know."

"Good." The two exchange a few more words, and Bruce hangs up. He stands from his chair in the Cave, eyeing every vast screen spread across the wall in front of him, and turns just in time.

Superman touches down soundlessly on the rocky floor.

He still takes his breath away, makes his heartbeat rise just a touch higher.

It was hard at first, to break down the Incident, and see it as something that happened to him, not something that was a part of him. There were countless nightmares where he couldn't bear the sight of Clark, and when they touched each other he couldn't stop the momentary flashbacks. It took time to get used to the touch without being reminded of It.

But he's healing. It's slow. Difficult. But he's healing. And right now, the only thing he feels is pure, liberated joy. Clark is a shining beacon amongst the dark shadows of the Cave, real and natural, unlike the computer screens throwing light.

Bruce's lips part ever so slightly, and Clark walks to him. He doesn't fly, or appear suddenly, or pop up with a swoosh of his cape. He only walks. He stops when he reaches Bruce, and then they're kissing.

It's steady and constant. Bruce hears the other man's heartbeat. His hands on Clark's shoulders. He feels gentle fingers at his waist. The cowl is already off, but the cape drapes heavily around his shoulders.

Bruce lets himself relax.

He's finally home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! first off I wanted to thank all the readers who gave this fic kudos, left a comment, subscribed or bookmarked. it truly, truly means a lot. why would I write if no one wanted more? everyone who showed support is the reason I wrote and finished this. i'm so happy that people liked this story, and though it's only been a month and it's not super long, I am still grateful for all of it. thank you guys so much!  
> secondly, I wanted to say that I am posting "extras" for this fic, which are mostly chapters that I wrote and decided not to use. there are just a few and i'm posting them right now!. I hope you'll enjoy those too.  
> anyway thank you again! I love writing and i'll be sure to write more DC fics!


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